


French

by keep_waking_up



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4334159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_waking_up/pseuds/keep_waking_up
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s like something out of a movie; the door opens and a cold wind blows into the bar, followed by the hottest guy Jared has ever seen in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	French

**Author's Note:**

> Totally inspired by the Jersey Boys’ version of “December 1963.” Apologies for the last posting! I blame the shitty mountain internet. (Also unbeta'd, due to crappy mountain internet).

The 67 is pretty much _the_ bar to play at in Austin.  Jared’s pretty much shaking by the time he gets off the stage.  Chad is immediately swarmed with girls, because even though Jared writes the music and lyrics, Chad is the lead singer, so he gets all the attention.

Jared doesn’t really mind, because he’s not so much with the girls.

He hides away in a corner while Chad and Justin—their lead guitarist—fend off the women.  He slurps up his Dirty Shirley through the bendy straw they gave him and drums with his fingers against the counter.  He’s still struggling with the riff at the end of one song; it just doesn’t sound quite right yet.  He’s so focused on that riff that he almost misses it in when _he_ walks in.

It’s like something out of a movie; the door opens and a cold wind blows into the bar, followed by the hottest guy Jared has ever seen in his life.

For a second, Jared only really sees the silhouette of him—winter coat, well-worn jeans, scarf covering his mouth.  Jared gets caught on his thighs, the gentle way they bow outward, the way the material strains over them.  He can only just see the curve of an ass, but it looks like a spectacular one.  He chews absentmindedly on his straw as his eyes stray to the soft bulge the light seems to highlight in the front of the other man’s pants.

Jared’s so stuck on the guy’s dick that he almost misses it when he unwinds the scarf from around his face.  But this guy’s got the kind of face that can’t be ignored, so Jared’s eyes drag up his body to gaze in awe at what is being—tantalizing slowly—unveiled.

The guy’s got the kind of face that belongs on marble statues.  The kind of face that brings to mind silk, caviar, and long days in bed.  The kind of face that people say dirty-pretty things in French about.  Jared writes music, that’s what he does, but he thinks he could write an album full of songs just about those lips and still not be done.  ‘Cause, yeah, there’s those lips—plush lips, wet lips, Mona-Lisa-smile lips—but there are also eyes and cheekbones and eyelashes and a proud nose and—

This guy—French, Jared decides to call him, because he really wishes he _could_ speak French for this guy—this French, is obviously used to having people stare at him.  Jared’s not the only one gawking and Chad’s lost a few of his admirers.  French doesn’t let it phase him.  He doesn’t even glance around the room, just heads straight for the bar, sloughing off his coat before he swings himself onto one of the barstools.

Jared’s not… he’s not _good_ with guys.  He likes them, obviously, likes their hardness, their muscle and their grit.  But Jared’s got just about no gaydar and this is _Texas_.  It’s not as bad in Austin, but still.  It’d be one thing if he actually had any _game_ , as Chad puts it, but the fact of the matter is that he doesn’t.  So all he can do is just sit there and stare as French orders some sort of dark, manly alcoholic beverage and drains it in one go.

Every move French makes is practically pornographic to Jared, but that swallow… Jared wishes he had a video camera, because he wants to jerk off to the long stretch of French’s throat, the roll of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips around the glass.  There’s no way this guy would ever even _look_ at Jared, but _god_ , Jared just wants a little piece of him to keep forever because there’s no way he’ll ever see a guy this gorgeous again.

Apparently Jared’s gawking is even more obvious than everyone else’s because French looks over at him with a roll of his eyes.  Instantly, Jared ducks his head, sipping frantically at his drink, but he can’t help peering from beneath the fringe of his bangs over at French.  There’s a tiny smirk on his face now as he mutters something to the bartender.  Jared can’t really hear him, just a low, gravelly cadence that he wants to lean into.

Jared squeezes his eyes closed for a moment, imagining that voice murmuring _something_ into his ear, the feel of French’s breath on his skin.  When he opens his eyes again, he nearly falls out of his seat because French is right there beside him, pushing another Dirty Shirley in Jared’s direction.  When Jared can’t do anything but stare, French smirks down at him, shoulders sure and strong.  “Drink up, kid,” he says, and his voice sounds even better when Jared can actually hear it.  It’s jazz and bass and languid kissing in the backseat of a car.  “Sooner you finish that, sooner we can head upstairs to my room.”

“You—” Jared very nearly sputters.  “I—you—are you serious?”

French’s mouth quirks up on one side.  “Why don’t you finish that drink and we can find out?”  He’s got the confidence of someone who knows they’ll get _exactly_ what they want and doesn’t mind waiting for it.  He’s finished off his own drink, so he’s just watching Jared, gaze heavy and sensual.  Jared’s almost shaking under it as he forgoes the straw and drains the glass in one long gulp.

French’s smirk graduates into a full-out grin, with just a flash of teeth.  “Atta boy,” he says lowly, and swings his keys around on his index finger.  “Follow me.”

*

French has one of the smaller rooms in the hotel above the 67.  It’s not much more than a bed and a bathroom, but Jared doesn’t really care because the bed is the _point_ , really, and what a bed it is.  It’s huge, and all Jared can see when he looks at it is French spread out over those navy sheets.

French doesn’t waste time; his shirt is on the floor by the time he comes around to stand by the bed with Jared.  “You too, kiddo,” he demands, already pulling the hem of Jared’s t-shirt up.  Speechless, Jared moves to let French pull the shirt over his head and toss it away.  His arms flop back to his sides uselessly as French’s beautiful, competent fingers undo the button of Jared’s fly with one flick and drag his zipper down. 

French’s eyes rise to meet his as he slips his hand into Jared’s now-open jeans and cups his cock surely.  “Shit,” Jared breathes out lowly, his hips jumping forward as every part of him strains closer to French. 

French just chuckles lowly, palming him confidently and roughly.  “First time,” he says, not even a question.  Flushing, Jared nods mutely, because there’s no point in denying it.  French brings his other hand up to stroke through Jared’s hair and it ends up resting on his neck.  “Thought so,” he murmurs.  “Guess that means we’ve got a lot to do tonight.”

Jared’s cock jumps at that, which only makes him blush harder, although French seems to like it.  “You’re cute, kid,” he says and then reels Jared in with the hand on his neck.  Jared can almost taste his breath, the sweet scent of alcohol on it.  “Kiss me,” French commands, and Jared is so starstruck by his _everything_ that he just does it, without thinking about it at all.

French earns the name Jared has given him with the way he kisses, deep and dirty.  He doesn’t ease Jared into it, just forces his mouth open and licks into him, hot and heavy from the start.  He doesn’t seem to mind that Jared’s not nearly as practiced, just takes and takes and _takes_ until he’s satisfied.  By the time French pulls back, Jared’s panting heavily and he couldn’t make a sound if he wanted to.  French grins at him… and then drops to his knees.

“Oh, holy mother of god,” Jared mutters, a shudder running down his entire body as French pushes his jeans down to his ankles, his underwear going with them.  Jared’s cock bobs happily once it’s freed, fully hard now and dripping. 

Embarrassed, Jared jerks his head to the side and squeezes his eyes closed, hands balling into fists.  His eyes fly open again when French smacks his ass.  “No, kid, you watch me,” French tells him.  “You look hot like this, and I’ll bet you’ll look even hotter when I’m sucking your dick.  So you watch.”

“Okay,” Jared breathes out, and he flexes his fingers in and out.  “Okay, I’ll watch.  Yes.”  He’s babbling, he knows it, but French’s perfect, _perfect_ lips are getting closer and closer to his dick.  He can’t even imagine what they’ll look like together.  It still seems unreal that something as perfect and beautiful and—god he can’t even find the words—that someone like him could even _exist_ in the same room as French, much less that someone like _French_ would be willing to suck his dick.  But impossibly, French’s lips do touch his dick, pressed against the head in the dirtiest kiss imaginable.

That kiss is, once again, the only preliminary French bothers with.  A few moments later, he’s curling his lips and sinking down on Jared’s cock, hot and wet and filthy.  And, _god_ , there’s no way French has a gag reflex, because he keeps going and going and _going_ , until his mouth is wrapped around the base of Jared’s dick and his eyes are glimmering triumphantly.  He stays there for a second, grabbing one of Jared’s hands and pressing it against his cheek, the line of his jaw.  When he begins moving, Jared can _feel_ it.

“Oh god oh god oh god oh—”  Jared can’t keep his mouth shut as French bobs his head up and down, taking Jared’s cock back in time and time again.  French doesn’t seem to mind, though, ‘cause his eyes are smug as they watch Jared.  It’s so fucking hot, how much French seems to like this, even though Jared hits the back of his throat sometimes, even though his lips are wet with saliva and the area around them is too.  He nearly purrs whenever Jared lets out a particularly strangled gasp or moan, lashes fluttering contentedly.  The soft bulge in his jeans that Jared had been so obsessed with earlier has transformed; now it’s hard and thick looking, and Jared stares at it whenever he’s not distracted by the fact that French is swallowing his dick down like he’s been dying for it.

Just when Jared thinks there’s no way he can last any longer, French pulls off with a dirty slurping sound.  His tongue darts out over his already-wet lips, like he wants to lick the taste of Jared off of them, like even having Jared’s cock in his mouth wasn’t enough.  “It’s hot, the way you look at me like that,” French tells him, voice even lower and rougher because _Jared’s dick was in his throat._ “Staring at me like you think I’m some kind of god.  I hope you know what this is doing for my ego.”

“Are you sure you’re not?” Jared blurts out, then backtracks, because French has one eyebrow raised in question.  “A god, that is.”

Both of French’s eyebrows go up at that, and there’s that amused little smirk playing on his mouth again.  “God of cocksucking?”

Even hearing French say the word has Jared whimpering.  French laughs, but not meanly.  “Like I said, kid.  Good for my ego.”  He stands up in one smooth, easy movement, and shucks off his jeans.  There’s nothing underneath him, just veritable _miles_ of new pale, lightly freckled skin for Jared to drool over.  Jared feels like dropping to his own knees, because French is hard too and his cock is fucking dildo-perfect, thick and long and hot looking.  French waxes, apparently, because he’s bare _everywhere_ , and it just makes his dick stand out that much more.

Before Jared can seriously think about trying his mouth at cocksucking, French is turning around and climbing onto the bed, which, of course, means that Jared’s got his first good look at French’s _ass_ , which is…

Jared can’t even.  He wants to bite it and kiss it and cup it in his hands and rub his cock on it and come on it and _in_ it and—

French starts fingering himself and Jared about loses it.  He climbs on the bed behind French and stares as French scissors two fingers in himself, head thrown back and ass pushed upwards.  Jared grabs onto French’s hips and just _stares_.

“Looking all you want to do?” French pants over one shoulder once he’s up to three fingers and moaning heartily.  Jared’s pretty sure if he makes that high-pitched whining sound one more time, Jared will just come without French even touching him.

“No,” Jared replies breathily.  “No.  I want—”

French’s grin turns wide and knowing.  “No, I know what you want,” he says and pulls his fingers out of himself so he can grab the headboard with both hands.  Teeth flashing, French rolls his hips.  “Come and get it, boy.”

And Jared does.

*

Later, after Jared’s fucked French twice and been fucked himself once, while his head is pillowed on one of French’s thighs and he’s really contemplating that whole sucking dick thing, he asks, “So why me?  You could have—why me?”

French looks down at him and, for a moment, Jared thinks he looks kind of lonely.  Then he grins and pulls Jared up by the hair to kiss him, deep and filthy.  “Maybe I just want you to write a song about me when you’re all rich and famous,” French says when they’re done.

And someday, Jared does.


End file.
